The Slip of Paper
by where-is-the-fire804
Summary: One phone call gave me her name. Another one gave me a meeting. All over a little slip of paper and a party.
1. Chapter 1: Lightning

**Like my other fic, I put songs that I think match this portion of the story for every chapter. Listening is optional but recommended. The song for this chapter is Lightning by The Wanted.  
**

**I do not own The Hunger Games or any characters.**

Chapter 1: Lightning

Peeta's POV

Business has slowed down severely this Friday night, so I had started cleaning up before I heard the bakery phone ringing.

I quickly set down the broom and walk over to it. Wiping my hands on my apron, I answer the phone.

"Hello, Mellarks' Bakery. This is Peeta, how may I help you tonight?"

"Mel- Bak- what are you talking about?" The man on the other end of the line sounds confused as he pauses. "Alright, no, I don't have time for games right now."

Now I'm as confused as he sounds. I stumble over the words, "I-I'm sorry, sir, I-I have no idea what you're talking about. This is Mellarks' Bakery—on Merchant Street."

"Don't play dumb with me. You've had your fun, now get Katniss. Now, please, _before_ I get impatient."

Katniss? What is a katniss? "What is a katniss?"

"Fuck, man. You know who Katniss is. I need to talk to her—about the party on Saturday. Tell her it's Cato."

Katniss is a name? Definitely not one I've ever heard. "I'm sorry, sir- Cato," I run my hand through my blond curls, "There's no one here at the bakery named Katniss… Maybe you have the wrong number?"

"No, I checked it twice before I called. This is definitely the number she gave me—unless… That bitch! She gave me the wrong number! She flirted with me and then gave me the wrong number!"

This is one of the most awkward conversations I've ever had. It even trumps 'the talk' with Dad when I was eleven. "Um, well. I'm sorry."

Abruptly the line ends, and I can't say I'm sad to see it go.

* * *

Three days later, I'm wiping down the display glass and almost ready to go and lock up the doors.

The phone rings.

I sigh as I walk to answer it, wiping my moist fingers on my apron before I grab the phone.

"Hello, Mellarks' Bakery. This is Peeta, how may I help you tonight?" I say into the receiver, cringing at how loud my voice sounds in the empty bakery.

"Fantastic—this is the right number. It only took me forever to re-find it," a woman's voice says under her breath, then she comes back louder, "Um, are you still open?"

"That depends. What do you need?"

"Some cheese buns for a party tonight. I was supposed to grab them earlier, but I forgot," quietly adding with a laugh, "I gave away my reminder."

"How far away are you? I won't mind waiting a few minutes to close down for you."

"Literally five minutes. I'm right down the street."

"Okay, how many cheese buns do you need? I'll have them waiting for you."

"Like… two dozen? Will that work?"

I survey my inventory. I have twenty six cheese buns. Perfect. "Yeah, that works. See you in a few." I'm about to hang up but an urge stops me. "I didn't catch your name."

She laughs, "That's because I didn't give it. But it's Everdeen. Katniss Everdeen. Bye, Peeta." She hangs up.

It doesn't even hit me until I'm folding the lip of the brown paper bag that contains twenty six cheese buns down a few seconds later.

I pause. Katniss. She said her name was Katniss. The same name of the girl that guy, Cato, was looking for earlier this week.

What are the odds?

That thought has just run through my head when the door bells jingle—indicating I have a customer. I look up, desperately wanting to see the girl that caused me trouble with that jerk.

I'm stunned by her. I guess with a name like Katniss I should have anticipated an exotic beauty, but her grandeur surpasses anything that my feeble mind could have thought up.

Her high cheekbones and angular face make my eyes pop. Her deeply tanned skin is complemented by her straight black hair with is pulled to the side in a mussed braid. I'm sure my jaw has scraped the ground once I take in her dark skinny jeans that fit her long legs like a glove, her bright, multi-colored tank top which has a gray cardigan buttoned on top of it but is sliding off one of her shoulders, and her white high-tops that are spattered with neon stripes of all colors.

She smiles at me, and I swear, I stop breathing. She's stunning.

I realize that I can't stare at her like this, or she'll think I'm some sort of creeper. Distracting myself, I grab the bag of bread from the counter and bring it over to the cash register. When she walks over and starts rummaging through her purse, she starts talking, "Look, I can't thank you enough for staying open for me. I would have been here earlier, but my sister needed me, and I forgot all about the party—and that I needed to bring food. And my friend recommended this place a few days ago and gave me the number on a piece of paper, but I kind of gave it away—for a good cause. Which is why I had to search for your number tonight, and I ended up calling you at closing time on a Saturday. And what I'm trying to say is 'Thank you for making my shitty day a little bit better.'" She smiles brightly up at me through her eyelashes as she continues to search in her purse for her wallet, I assume.

I smile at her, "It's no problem really. I don't have any place to be." I don't realize how lame that sounds until after I said it. It's Saturday; I'm young, and I'm not out partying with friends. I'm going home to lounge on my couch, cuddling with my dog and watching TV.

But she's not paying attention. Her hands become more frantic in her bag before she gives up and sighs. "Excuse me, but I need to be sure." Then she proceeds to empty the contents of her leather purse on my counter.

She sifts through the pile, moving a pack of gum out of the way, then a tampon, then a tube of chapstick, and a few other random items before sighing again. Swiping all of her belongs back into her bag, she says, "I'm sorry for wasting your time. Because I forgot my wallet at my apartment." She shakes her head and pinches the bridge of her nose.

I just laugh. Not at her, but the whole situation is so unexpected and unbelievable that I can't help myself. "Don't worry about it. Just take them."

She looks up with scrunched eyebrows. "I can't do that. And won't you get fired?"

I chuckle again, "I own the place; I can't be fired. And really, just take the bag. I won't be able to sell those tomorrow because they'll be a day old, and I like to have fresh bread every day."

"You own this place?" I nod, and she continues, "Impressive. All right, I'll take them, but one day I'll repay you for this."

I pause. "You can repay me right now by answering a question."

Visibly cringing, she pauses with an uncomfortable look on her face. "So that's the catch of getting free food. Okay, when people say something like that, it's never good," she meets my eyes, "If you ask me if I want to kiss you—or more, and you try to guilt me into it because of your good deed, I will leave right now without this bag." She raises the bag of cheese buns to eye level.

I feel my eyes widen and eyebrows rise. "What?! No- who do you think I am? I'm not going to guilt you into anything; I'm not a sleeze ball," I pause and then shrug, "In retrospect, I realize that I might have sounded a little bit creepy, but I would never ask you to do anything like that."

She obviously relaxes, and I smile.

"Plus, I don't kiss on the first date."

She grins with me, and we laugh for a second before I say, "My question is this: do you know a guy named Cato?"

This throws her for a loop; she was not expecting this question. Slowly, she starts nodding. "Uh, yeah. He's this guy who kind of, um, stalks me, I guess," she chuckles softy, "Actually, funny story, a few days ago he demanded that I give him my phone number, and I was afraid of what he would do to me if I didn't, so I did. But not really—I gave him _a_ phone number but not _mine_—yours. Madge had given me your number on a slip of paper, so I took out that piece of paper and pretended to write on it and gave it to Cato," she laughs again, "He didn't even realized that I was holding a red pen, but the number was written in blue ink." She looks into my eyes, "I guess that's just another thing I need to thank you for. Thank you."

I smile and nod. "I would hold off on thanking me. I have a story about my one and only encounter with Cato," she looks confused, so I continue on, "Cato called here, looking for a Katniss."

Her eyes go wide and her mouth drops open. "Oh, shit! What did you say?"

"Well, at first he thought I was screwing with him because I asked what a katniss was, not knowing he was talking about a person—because even you have to admit that 'Katniss' is not an average name. It's definitely no 'Bob.'"

Katniss just throws her head back and laughs, "Actually you were semi-right. Katniss is a type of flower. Not a common one, like roses, but it's a flower nonetheless." She grins and says, "And you're one to talk!" She touches my name badge with her index finger, "'Peeta' isn't a run-of-the-mill name either. I've meet a Peter before, but no Peetas." She raises an eyebrow at me and pokes me in the chest, "And if you think 'Bob' is such a common, stereotypical name, pray tell, how many Bobs have you actually meet?"

Her question makes me pause, "Uh, well, none."

She beams, "Exactly."

I smile too but then carry on with my Cato story, "Cato had wanted to talk to you about the party tonight. I assume that means he's going to be there. And then he figured out that you gave him the wrong number and called you a bitch."

She sighs and closes her eyes, "Shit, okay, thanks for the heads up. I need get going." She reaches out and touches my arm and smiles softly, "Hey, thanks for everything today—and even a few days ago. I've known you only ten minutes, and you've already proved to be one of the good guys of the world."

"Yeah, it was no problem," I beam back. Sad to see her go, I slowly reach to take off my apron and walk to the other side of the room to hang it on the hook.

I hear the door open, and the bells jingle, "Bye, Peeta," Katniss says as she stands in the threshold.

"Bye, Katniss," I respond.

And then she's gone.

I walk around the bakery, checking to make sure that everything's in order. I'm about to snap off the lights when I see it.

A ripped piece of a brown bag sits near the register. Walking over to it, I see something written on it.

A phone number.

In red ink.

Signed by 'K' in a loopy scrawl.

Is this her real number? Or is she just screwing with me, like she did Cato?

_Only one way to find out._


	2. Chapter 2: On Top of the World

**A/N: Wow, this story has had a great reception! I really wasn't expecting anyone to read it, but quite a few people are.  
So thank you to all who followed, favorited, and especially reviewed! It means more to me than you know.  
I just want to say Merry Christmas and happy holidays to all of you! Forgive me that it took so long to update, but my holidays have been hectic.**

**The song for this chapter is On Top of the World by Imagine Dragons.  
**

**I do not own The Hunger Games or any characters.**

Chapter 2: On Top of the World

Peeta's POV

_Hey, it's Katniss. I'm not answering the phone right now for one of three reasons. 1.—I'm busy, 2.—I'm asleep, or 3.—I looked at the caller ID, saw your name, and really didn't feel like having a conversation with you. Now your job as the caller is to figure out which of the aforementioned reasons is the motivation for my not answering the phone right now. And once you've done that, decide whether you should try to call me back or not. Think hard and may the odds be ever in your favor._ There's a short laugh, and then it's over.

At first, my heart drops after hearing Katniss' voicemail because I started thinking that maybe her reason for not answering was reason number 3. But then I realized that if she didn't want to talk to me, she wouldn't have given me her number.

So I start my awkward message, "H-hey, Katniss, it-it's Peeta. I, uh, was just calling to see if maybe you, um, wanted to get together sometime soon? I have the afternoons off in the bakery for the next few days, so maybe then? Um, just call me back and let me know. Okay, bye."

I quickly hit end and hang my head in embarrassment. After a good five minutes of self-wallowing and thinking of other things I could have said, I work on making more cookie dough because we've almost sold out of cookies today.

A couple of hours later, I've moved from cookie dough to cheese bun dough. I finish shaping the rolls and slide them in the oven. Grabbing a rag, I walk over to the counter where I made a mess with dough. As I wipe up, Finnick walks into the kitchen from the front.

Knocking on the threshold, he says in a low voice, "Hey, Peet. There's a _really_ hot chick in the front who's asking to see you."

I clear my throat and ask, "You don't know who it is?"

He shakes his head ruefully, "Naw, man. But I wish I did. She's not what I usually go for, you know, because she seems pretty confident and assured of herself. But, damn, she's pretty sexy. And her eyes, man, her eyes. They pierce right to your soul."

The only people who would come to the bakery to see me, Finnick would know.

Unless it's…

"What does she look like, Finn?" I pause my cleaning, so I can look up at him. "You said she has strong eyes, right? Are they gray? Like a storm cloud? And black hair? With legs that just won't quit?"

At everything I list, Finnick nods his head.

So, it is Katniss. What's she doing here?

I have to find out. "Will you finish wiping this down while I talk to her?"

He holds up one finger. "I will—but tell me. Do you know her?"

I toss him the rag. "Yeah, after you left last night, she showed up, and it seemed like we really connected. I really didn't want her to leave any more than I think she wanted to go. She gave me her number; her name is Katniss."

"Well, don't leave her hanging! Go get her!" Finnick shouts as I walk through the doors that lead to the front of the shop.

She's standing in front of the display counters when I walk out. She's not looking in my direction but down through the glass at all the different pastries, so I take a moment to look her over as I slowly make my way over. Her hair is in a disheveled braid similar to last night's. She's wearing an open flannel shirt which, like last night, is sliding down her shoulder, which only has the spaghetti strap of her tank top covering it. The rest of her is blocked from my view by the counter.

At the sound of my footsteps, she looks up and smiles a breathtaking grin. I open my mouth to greet her, but she beats me to the punch. "First things first," she bites her bottom lip and points down at the display case, "Can you get me one of whatever the hell that is? Because it has been taunting me ever since I walked in the shop."

I laugh and pull out the Danish she was pointing at. "On the house."

She stops with the Danish mid-way to her mouth. "No, I made sure I brought my wallet with me this time!"

"Okay," I say, nodding slowly, and she takes a bite. "It's still on the house."

She shakes her head and chews slowly as her eyes roll back into her head. "I'm only going to agree right now because my mouth is in pure ecstasy, and I don't want to taint it."

"All right, take your time."

And she does; Katniss takes bite after bite, chewing slowly. We don't speak; we stare at each other. We just look into each other's eyes, not quite searching for something but looking nevertheless.

Someone clears their throat near us. I assume it's Finnick until I hear a snarky feminine voice snap, "If you two are done eye-fucking each other, I'd like to get some bread."

I clear my throat and quickly look away from Katniss to the tall blonde standing to my right. "Um, yes, I'm sorry. What can I get you?"

"Rye and a few baguettes, please," the blonde says, and I can feel her eyes roaming my body.

Katniss stands off to the side and mumbles something that I swear sounds like, "I'd like you to 'bag it.'"

As I reach into the basket containing the baguettes, I look up at Katniss and raise an eyebrow. She tries to hold back a grin and a laugh but still ends up snorting. Looking away with a smile, I see the rye basket is empty.

"I think I've got a fresh batch of rye in the back. Let me go check real quick." As I pass Katniss on the way to the kitchen, I lean in and whisper, "Play nice while I'm gone."

Hearing her chuckle as I push the doors open, I'm not surprised when a "No guaranties!" follows.

"Hey, Finn, do we have more rye?"

He looks up from the oven he's standing at and says, "The loaves will be done in just a few minutes."

"All right well, when they're done, will you bring them up front quickly? I have a customer that's asking for it."

"Yeah, that's fine."

"Thank you!" I call out as I walk back to the front.

Katniss is leaning on her elbows on the counter staring up at the menu when I step through the doors. She tracks my progress to the blonde with her eyes only.

"I'm sorry, miss, the rye is going to be a few minutes. If you're willing to stick around, you can make yourself comfortable over in the sitting area." I gesture over to the plush couches and loveseats toward the entrance by the fireplace.

The blonde woman looks pissed about having to wait, but she wanders over to a couch and takes a seat, immediately whipping out her iPhone.

I suppress an eye roll and meander over to Katniss, leaning on my elbows in front of her. As I put my chin in one of my hands, I notice that our faces are mere inches apart. Instead of dwelling on that fact I say, "So now that the first thing is out of the way, what else did you need?"

She beams at me, "I actually had a question for you. I saw that I missed your call, and I thought I should talk to you in person. So, which reason did you think it was?"

Frowning, I ask, "Reason? What reason are you—oh… did you mean as to why you didn't pick up the phone?" At her nod and small smile, I think through it out loud, "Well, if it was number three, you wouldn't have given me your number in the first place. And considering I called around one in the afternoon, I don't think you were asleep. That rules out number two, leaving number one as the winner. So tell me, Katniss, am I right?" I ask with eyebrows raised.

Smiling brightly at me, she nods and quietly says, "Great deducing, Holmes. My sister was visiting me because she wanted a weekend away. We needed some quality time together."

Finnick appears from behind me with a tray of rye. Once he's finished, he winks at Katniss and gives me a look that tells me he's going to want to talk about her later.

The blonde woman walks up and sighs, "Thank God, it's finally ready."

"Yes, let me just bag it for you," I say, emphasizing 'bag it' and smiling once I've gotten the reaction I wanted from Katniss. She laughs loudly at my awful pun that's making it's reappearance from earlier.

I sneak a look at her where she stands at the other end of the long counter. She tries to hold back a laugh but fails, and I can't help but laugh with her as a hand the woman her bag after she pays.

When I walk over to Katniss, she says, "And now it is time for the big reveal. The main reason I am here—part one. I wanted to say yes. Yes, I would like to hang out with you sometime in the next couple of days. You have my number so send me the details. I've got the next couple of days off work, so whatever you come up with should work for me."

Grinning, I remark, "That's great! Okay, I can think of something for us to do. Now, what's part two of the main reason you're here?"

She chuckles, "I wanted more cheese buns," she leans in closer and becomes more serious, "I think I'm addicted."

Amused, I lean back and walk over to the cheese buns while shaking out a bag. "How many?"

Her eyebrows scrunch together. "I don't know. Let's go with a dozen."

I raise my eyebrows at her and respond quietly, "Maybe you do have an addiction."

"Shut up, I'm going to share with my sister."

Under my breath, I quip, "That's what they all say. Then they're found a few days later huddled in a corner in the fetal position rocking back and forth while sobbing with their horde of cheese buns surrounding them."

"Is that so? Do you make it your mission to turn your customers into blubbering messes?"

Leaning closer to her, I hand her the bag as I state, "Always."

"You're evil, especially if you think I'm about to leave with paying for all of the baked goods I've received from you in the past couple of days."

"Then call me evil. That's what's going to happen."

"You're wrong," she tells me quietly as she leans impossibly closer, our noses almost touching.

I shake my head, and she rolls her eyes as she turns to leave.

"See you soon, Peeta!" she yells over her shoulder as she pulls out her phone and types away, pushing the door open with her hip.

"Bye, Katniss," I call to her retreating form.

Almost immediately my pocket buzzes. Pulling out my phone, I see I have a new text.

From Katniss.

_Check your apron pocket_, her simple message says.

I frown and reach into the pocket, feeling a piece of paper.

A note? No, I see it's not a note when I pull it out.

It's a twenty dollar bill.

She must have slipped it into my pocket when I was too preoccupied with her gray eyes staring straight into my soul.

_You decided to take the hero route and not let me be evil, huh?_, I quickly type to her.

Her response is a simple one-word reply, but it's enough to keep my mind engrossed with thoughts of her all day.

_Always._


	3. Chapter 3: No Sleep Tonight

**A/N: Firstly, I deeply apologize for the amount of time it took me to get this out. I had writer's block, but eventually an idea came to me, and I got it out on paper.  
Secondly, you readers are fantastic! Keep the reviews, favorites, and follows coming. They motivate me to write.  
Thirdly, I decided that I actually like putting each chapter to music (either before or after I write it), so I'm going back and putting songs to the first two chapters.  
**

** The song for this chapter is No Sleep Tonight by The Faders.**

**I do not own The Hunger Games.**

Chapter 3: No Sleep Tonight

Peeta's POV

"So, who was that girl again? You couldn't keep your eyes off each other. She gave you the bedroom eyes, and you stared at her ass when she left," Finnick asks a little while after Katniss left. I blush at his words but don't get to answer his question.

"Whoa, wait. What girl? There's a girl? My baby brother has a crush?" Ryland, my second oldest brother, asks as he walks in from the backdoor.

"No, Ry. Not a crush—she's interesting to me; that's all. I barely know her," I grumble as I work to wipe a sticky glaze off the counter in the kitchen.

Finnick jumps back in with, "Oh, really? You barely know her? You have her_ number_ already after, like, two conversations. You've know her for _maybe_ an hour all together. And you have plans to see her within the next couple of days. I'd have to say she's a little bit more than interesting to you."

Ry raises his eyebrows at me incredulously. "Now I really have to hear about this girl. In all our years at this bakery, you have never responded to any pass made at you by attractive women. I think everyone was starting to think you were gay." He looks up with wide eyes, "Not there's anything wrong with being gay. I think it's great—fantastic even! I mean, if you're gay, I'll support you. I'm sure Dad and Bran will come behind you- I mean will be supportive too! Women are right—the good ones _are_ always gay. 'The gayer the better' I always say-"

"Ry, please stop." I put my palm on my face and slowly brag it down to my chin. "I'm not gay; I just wasn't interested in any of those women. They didn't hold a… I don't know—a spark. There was nothing there. Then Katniss walked in, and automatically I wanted to know everything about her. I would have spent hours with her just listening to her talk about anything she wanted to talk about. And that was all with just a look. She captivated me; I've never met anyone like her."

Ry and Finn share a look.

"What?" I ask a little harsher than intended. "What is that-" I gesture wildly between them, "-for?"

Finn starts, "Nothing, it's just that I've never felt that way about anyone before. Like, ever. And especially not with just one look."

"No one has ever made me feel like that either," Ry states. Then he nudges Finn, "Peeta's just a romantic; that's all. He's got the hots for a hot girl." He looks at Finn sharply as if he is surprised this question didn't come across his mind earlier, "She's hot, right?"

Finn nods enthusiastically, "Oh, yeah. She's super hot—a total ten. She's got this 'Native American princess meets the modern girl' type look."

I squint at Finn. "What the hell does _that_ mean? 'Native American princess meets the modern girl'? Where did you get _that_?"

Finn shrugs and tells me, "Well, she looks like one of those exotic Native American girls, you know, high cheek bones and dark features—just wearing more modern clothing." He turns back to Ry, "She's definitely a looker—her legs are miles long. And those eyes! Dear Lord, those eyes. They're gray storm clouds—so sexy."

"Her eyes _are_ amazing," I agree. "I've never seen eyes like hers before. They're so gray and steely—like they can see right through any façade and straight into your soul. They know every truth, even the ones that hurt. I think she's known true pain before."

Ry raises an eyebrow, "That's pretty deep. You must really like her already."

Nodding unreservedly, I mumble, "Yeah, I must. We're supposed to get together soon and do something, but I have I clue what we're going to do. She left all the plan-making to me, and I don't know what types of things she likes to do. I'm afraid that I'm going to pick the something completely stupid and then ruin everything. I like her so much—more than anyone before, and I don't want to fuck up."

Ry leans in, "You've got her number, right?" At my nod he continues, "Then just call her. Or if you think that'll be too awkward, text her. Ask her what she likes to do. Or ask her for recommendations and go from there."

"I guess you're right. I'll just ask her what she expects," I concede.

"How bad could it be?"

* * *

_How do you spend your days when you're not off terrorizing local bakers?_

I send the text to Katniss without thinking about it because I don't want to over-analyze and psych myself out.

_'Terrorizing local bakers' is what I do every day. Every single minute of every single day. I do nothing else but antagonize the population of bakers in my vicinity. It makes me feel better about myself_, is her answer. Although it makes me laugh, it's not helpful to my situation. I need to get an idea that isn't shitty, and 'terrorizing local bakers' with her is definitely a shitty idea.

_Then I need to pull you out of your routine and give a pick-me-up to your self-esteem. How do you suggest I do that? I don't know very much about you, so if we are going to be spending an evening together, I need a little help on finding something that would be fun for the both of us. What are some things that you like to do?_

Her answer comes quickly, _Look, I get that you don't want to plan something and then have it end in horseshit. But think of this as me testing you. I want to see what you can come up with without prompts, without guidelines, without any knowledge of me. I want to see what type of evening you think I'd like, even though you don't know me—I want to see what impression I gave off on you. Or better yet, you could show me YOU. Show me what you're like. Plan something and keep it a surprise from me. This is just your first challenge; don't fuck it up._

_ I won't_, is all I send back.

Because I won't fuck it up. I refuse to.

I stand with a broom in my hand for I while, thinking about our conversation. I'm supposed to be sweeping up the front of the store, but I can't focus on that right now. I can't focus on anything really. I'm too worried about what I have to plan.

"Hey, buddy," Finnick calls softly from behind me as he puts a hand on my shoulder. "You okay? You've been standing here staring at the wall holding a broom for a while now. I figured I'd give you a little warning because I'm thinking about calling the asylum."

"Shut up, you ass," I tell him with a little shove.

"But seriously, what are you thinking so hard about? The last customer asked me if you were narcoleptic and if you had fallen asleep standing up with your eyes open. She said you weren't moving and wondered if you needed help. She was trying to convince me to call an ambulance for you."

I give a few fake laughs and say dryly, "That's very funny, Finnick. You're hilarious. Your comical genius never fails to astound me."

"Someone's pissy. Come on, let's go out after close. You need a drink, man! You have got to loosen up."

"I don't want to go out for drinks tonight; I have thinking to do."

"There will time for thinking when we're dead! Tonight we go out and live!" He looks at me knowingly and points firmly, "We both know what you were going to do as soon as you got home. Cuddling on the couch with your dog while watching the Food Network is not what you should be doing in your prime years. You should be out partying, drinking, picking up chicks!"

There's no use in arguing with Finnick over this. He won't stop pestering until I say yes; he won't take no for an answer. If just give in now, that'll leave more time to myself later.

I sigh, "Fine, we'll go out. But I'm not 'picking up chicks.' I'll have a few drinks, and that's all. I need to stop at home first, but I'll meet you at the usual place in about an hour?"

Finnick grins so widely that I can see all of his molars. "That's the spirit! We're going to be the sexiest men in that bar!" He is practically shouting by now.

"Finn, I said that I'd go to our usual bar, or did you not hear me? We kinda win the 'sexiest men' contest by default. We'll be the only two in there under thirty years-old."

"Touché. Though technically what I said isn't wrong."

Together Finn and I close up the store, and I drive home to shower and change. Once I've put my shoes back on, I grab my keys off the counter and head out for Abernathy's Tavern.

When I walk in, I can already see Finn at the bar—his bronze hair would be hard to miss. His laugh rings throughout the dull roar of the bar, and I can tell that he's already finished more than one drink.

A girl with short brown hair sits next to him on a stool. She looks like a pixie in her features—sharp, angular face, petite frame, pale skin, dark hair. She's pretty but not something I would go after.

Finn's having a field day with her though. He's clutching his stomach because of something she said, and her eyes look mischievous as she gives him a smirk.

"You started without me, Finn?" I ask with a pout when I reach his side. "And here I thought we were on a date."

"I'm sorry, Peeta, but you're not my type. Too sweet and lacking experience." He gives the woman a cheeky grin as he announces, "Nothing like Johanna here. She's got spunk _and_ experience."

Johanna speaks up, "Right you are, Finnick. This is most definitely not my first rodeo."

Finn leans in and stage whispers, "I bet you like it rough too."

Groaning and cringing, I sit on the stool next to Finn and order a beer; I need to distract myself. I don't want to listen to where this conversation is going. This doesn't stop me from hearing her reply, "Every time after my first go I've liked rough. I don't see why today would be any different."

I can hear Finnick give a noise of sympathy. "Your first time wasn't up to par?"

Scoffing, Johanna answers, "'Up to par?' You could say it wasn't ideal, that's for sure." She turns and looks Finn directly in the eyes. "I was raped by my mom's boyfriend when I was thirteen."

This gives Finnick and me a pause. The silence is palpable. Finally Finn quietly responds with, "I'm so sorry. I didn't know. I apologize for my words."

"You're fine. You didn't know, and the past is the past. There's nothing I can do to change it, so why worry about it?"

"Huh. I guess you're right."

All three of us take a drink of our respective beers and sit in a semi-comfortable silence.

The silence is broken by a voice calling out to Johanna.

"Jo-Jo!"

Johanna's face breaks out into a bright grin, and she turns around to look for the source of her name. She must recognize the voice.

"Primmy!" Johanna yells as she opens her arms. A small blonde body throws itself into her embrace. Laughing Johanna asks, "This is a surprise! How have you been, Barbie doll?"

The blonde girl chuckles and her blue eyes shine. "Fantastic! College is tough, but I'll get through it. I really needed a few days away, and Kat said I could stay with her."

"I'm glad I get to see you while you're here. Lord knows I've missed seeing your smiling face when all I've been seeing is Kitty's scowls."

The small blonde's smile dissipates. "Has she been down lately? She didn't say anything."

"Well, not any more than usual. Actually, today she sounded like she was in a great mood when she called me to set this up. All laughs. I guess that's because of you being here."

The blonde gives a knowing smile. "It might not just be me. Kat was gushing about someone she met the other day. And you know she never gushes—"

"Jesus Christ, Prim!" the blonde is interrupted by a familiar voice calling to her from a few feet away. "You could've at least stayed with me while I bribed Darius to let you in—you know since you're not twenty-one, and I'm actually letting you step foot into a bar."

The blonde, Prim, sighs, "I'm sorry. I was excited to see Jo-Jo."

Chuckling, the owner of the feminine voice steps into view. "Nice job, Joey. It's all your fault."

It's Katniss.

Johanna grins at Katniss and turns to Finnick and me saying, "Kitty-Kat and Barbie, these fine men are Finnick and Peeta."

At my name, Katniss whips her head towards me. Her eyes brighten and she gives me a breathtaking smile. I smile back, but I'm positive that it's not nearly as stunning as her smile.

Johanna continues on, "Finnick and Peeta, these ladies are Prim and K-"

"Katniss," I finish without looking away from Katniss. "Yeah, we've meet."

Prim looks at Katniss. "Is this _the_ Peeta? Bakery Peeta?"

Grinning, Katniss says, "Yup."

Prim raises an eyebrow and studies me. "I'll have you know that Katniss single-handedly devoured the dozen cheese buns she brought home."

Finally Katniss looks away from me. "That's not completely true! Yes, I ate more than what's probably recommended, but I didn't eat _all_ of them… Just like eight…"

"Holy shit, you are addicted," I say with wide eyes.

Katniss covers her face with her hand and groans, "I know. They're just _so_ good."

Everyone laughs and then starts to chat among themselves.

Using perfected puppy dog eyes, Prim asks Katniss, "Can I have a drink? Pretty please?"

Katniss sighs and orders her a beer. "One. You only get one. And you don't take any drinks from anybody but me, okay?"

"Done deal!"

Katniss sneakily tells Johanna to watch Prim while she goes to the bathroom. When Katniss leaves, Prim comes to stand next to my stool.

Suddenly she leans close to my ear and starts whispering, "Look, we don't have much time because Katniss pees fast, but I want to help you out. Katniss has told me about every second of every single one of you guys' interactions, and I can tell by the way she looks at you that she likes you—enough to let you in, which she doesn't do very often, or ever, so you should be damn proud. And you're even worse. You look at her like she's the only girl in the entire world.

"I know about this date that you're supposed to plan, and I don't want you to screw it up. So if you need help, come to me. I'll put my number in your phone later. The best thing you can do for this date is show her who you are inside. Tell her something special. Show her something special. But real—it has to be real. She can spot fakeness from a mile away, so if want a chance with her, you're going to have to be one hundred percent honest. She'll appreciate the truth and intimateness of you sharing something important to you with her.

"The most important thing is this: I may not look like much, but if you hurt my sister in any way, I will beat your ass into a pulp without any reservations or hesitations."

Prim slinks away as Katniss walks into view, and I can only think one thing.

I've somehow acquired a wingman.


	4. Chapter 4: The Boxer

**A/N: The song for this chapter is The Boxer by Mumford and Sons.**

**Okay, I'm so sorry guys. I know that it's been a ridiculous amount of time since I have updated this story—almost a month. Life threw me for a loop and sent me scrambling, but I think everything is under control now. Again, I apologize for the delay.**

**Also, I want to thank my new beta sunfish dunes for doctoring this chapter. 'Fabulous' is all I can say to her.**

**Happy reading!**

Chapter 4: The Boxer

Peeta's POV

With each passing hour the sky gets darker and the bar gets louder, but Prim's words have set my mind to work.

I'm going to show her _me_. I want to show her what I'm like. I want to show her who I am. I want her to like me.

Who am I?

I'm a baker. She knows this; I can cross that off the list. I paint—that's something she doesn't know. Off the top of my head I can't think of anything else about me that has substance. Damn, I'm boring.

I'll show her my paintings.

"What are you doing tomorrow afternoon?" I quickly ask Katniss, who has been staring at Prim ever since a gentleman asked her to a dance on the makeshift dance floor on the other side of the bar.

Katniss doesn't turn her head away from Prim's direction. "Hmm?"

"I asked what you were doing tomorrow."

"Yeah, all right."

"You're not paying attention, are you?" I'm a little amused by this.

"That sounds fine." Her eyes are glued to Prim—as though if Katniss takes her eyes off of her, Prim will disappear.

"Katniss," I call softly, "she'll be fine. I know that guy; he's as harmless as a fly. He may be as annoying as a fly, but he won't touch her in any way that's inappropriate."

Katniss' attention is transferred to me, and she asks with a hard look, "You're sure?"

"Positive."

She gives a little nod, "Okay. Now, what were you saying before?"

"What are you doing tomorrow?"

Her answer comes with a shake of her head, "Nothing."

"Will you meet me at the bakery around 5:45-ish? Maybe a few minutes later than that?"

"Yeah, I can be there. Do I need to wear anything special?"

"Nope. Whatever you're comfortable in."

She smirks. "Fantastic—sounds like my kind of date."

Her words make me pause. Date? I didn't think this was a date. I posed it as an afternoon hanging out with each other and getting to know each other, not a date. Not that I would mind if it were a date. As a matter of fact, I definitely _don't_ mind.

Prim walks back and throws an arm over her sister's shoulder, effectively ending our conversation. In fact, the closer Prim gets, the more closed-off Katniss' expressions are. I'm assuming she doesn't want to talk about things in front of her sister, but I find that odd because Prim obviously knows _something_ about me—our conversation earlier when Katniss was in the bathroom is clear and cut evidence of that.

"Kat, can I have another drink?" Prim asks close to Katniss' ear.

"No."

"Please?"

"Nope."

"Pretty please with a cherry on top?"

"Not going to happen, Prim. I said one; you've already exhausted your limit."

"But, Katniss, I'm your sister."

"And what the hell does that have anything to do with it?"

By this point, I can't smother my chuckles anymore. I quietly laugh and try to conceal it behind my hand. Katniss doesn't seem like the type that will take too kindly to being laughed at. She shoots me a glare, and I try to quit laughing by taking a sip of my drink but I can't keep the smile off my face.

"It has _everything_ to do with it," Prim continues.

"How so?"

"Because it means that I keep secrets from you… and I might have a reason to celebrate tonight, okay?"

"Oh, do you? Pray tell, little duck, what is your 'secret'?"

Prim hesitates before she leans in closer with a smile that is so big that it could break her face in two. "Rory asked me out."

This is not what Katniss was expecting; I can tell by the absolute shock on her face that she doesn't make any attempt to hide.

Katniss stammers, "What?! Really?"

"Yes!" Prim squeals.

I don't know who Rory is, but Prim seems very excited about him.

The shock fades off Katniss' face a little as she beams at her little sister. "That's fantastic, Prim! I'm so happy for you; I never thought he would work up the nerve. He can barely get two words out when you're around—whether it's because he's nervous or because you never stop talking, I haven't exactly figured out."

Prim's eyes narrow at Katniss' words. "You don't need to be an ass."

"I still wonder about it. Because you were both always so red-faced but had totally opposite reactions. He couldn't get one word out, and you couldn't stop rambling. The fact that you stopped talking long enough for him to ask you out is impressive." Katniss starts chuckling at the frown on Prim's face and calls out for another beer which she hands to Prim. "Congrats, little sister."

"Thanks," Prim grumbles as she sits next to Katniss.

"Come on, little duck," Katniss pokes Prim in the side, "You know I was just kidding. I'm really excited for you. I know how much you like him."

"I know you do. Sorry for being a baby."

"Don't apologize. I love you, no matter who you are—especially your sensitive side."

Prim smiles at her sister. "And I love you, too. But your drunken side is a little irritating. You don't know when to shut up when you're drunk."

"Come on! I'm not even that drunk yet."

"Well, what do you want me to say? That your drunken side, your buzzed side, and your sober side are all a little irritating?"

Katniss pauses. "Uh, no. We can keep it at drunk."

Johanna's voice rings out, "Hey, Kitty?"

"What, Joey?"

"Can I crash at your place tonight? I don't want to go home; Clove is back from her business trip, and I don't want to deal with her while I'm drunk—it never blows over well. I wish she didn't come back, and I still had the place to myself."

Katniss sighs, "Joey, if you don't like her and never have, why did you agree to room with her?"

"Impulsive decision. The wrong impulsive decision."

"At least you recognize that you were wrong. Yeah, I guess you can stay over tonight. The couch has your name written all over it."

"What no room for me in your bed with you and Primmy?"

Finnick jumps into the conversation before Katniss retorts, "Why do you call her Joey, Katniss?" His words are slurred, and his skin is flushed. I'm going to have to make sure he doesn't drink anymore.

Johanna glares at Katniss, who bursts into laughter—so hard that Katniss lays her head down on the edge of the bar while her body shakes with the force of her chuckles, and she clutches her stomach.

Finally, Katniss regains enough composure to speak. "Well, I met Jo in kindergarten, and she was a few grades ahead of me. It was during recess when I met her. She was picking the bark off the tree I was sitting in, and I told her to quit. She didn't know where my voice came from, and she looked pretty scared—"

"I was not scared!" Johanna interrupts. "I was surprised."

"Don't lie; you almost pissed on yourself! Anyway, Jo had a boy haircut back then—"

"Like she does right now?" I interject with a smirk.

Johanna bristles. "Okay, fuck you. This is a pixie cut, not a boy cut. It's fashionable."

"Very similar to her hair now," Katniss continues "and she didn't have any feminine features yet, so I assumed she _was_ a boy. I heard some kid yell at her and I thought they called her Joey, which made sense at the time because of the whole boy thing."

"So the next day, I saw her in the hall and asked if she planned on hurting any more trees soon. She looked freaked, and I just walked away. She probably thought I was God reincarnated into a little girl or something. Eventually, we just started tagging along with each other, and I found out that she is, in fact, a girl. I'm pretty sure she proved it by pulling her pants down and flashing her vag. But I still called her Joey, and we've been friends since."

"Except that one time I called you bitch and you didn't talk to me for a week," Johanna adds. "I finally had to tell that I was just mad when I said it and that didn't mean it. It was hard for both of us."

"When was that?" I ask.

"The summer of '07, I think."

Prim excuses herself to the bathroom, and Finn leaves to find a suitable girl for the night. Jo leaves to get another drink and talk to a guy sitting at the other end of the bar. He looks about ten years older than she is.

"She's a reverse cougar," Katniss whispers into my ear.

"What?" I can't focus on her words—the feeling of her breath on me is distracting.

"She goes for older guys instead of younger ones. I don't know why; she just says that it's a performance thing."

I raise my eyebrows as Katniss leans back from my side. When she's back in her seat, she shrugs and gives a half-smile to my raised brows.

"Oddly enough, I doubt that's the thing I'd find weirdest about her," I mutter as I cast a glance over at Johanna and observing her flirting techniques.

"No, if you knew her like I did, you'd run for the hills."

"Why did _you_ stay?"

With an intense look, she stares right into my eyes. "I like things that aren't necessarily the norm. I like challenges. I like things that I—and everyone else—don't think I can have. I like proving people wrong."

"I like you."

The words slip out of my mouth. I guess my brain thought it was a game—she lists things she likes, and I make an ass out of myself by listing something I like.

"I like you, too."

I can't believe she said that out loud—that _we_ said it out loud. I don't know how to respond. Maybe I need to stop drinking if I can't control the words coming out of my mouth.

Katniss sloshes her drink around a little. "I think this is going to be my last drink," she says quickly.

"I was just thinking the same thing."

Katniss slowly sips her drink and looks away. This is awkward. I want to relieve the tension that our admissions brought.

"I never asked you what your line of work is." I'm grasping at straws her, but here goes nothing.

Katniss chuckles, "Actually, I'm a forester."

"That explains the save-the-tree attitude in your story."

"I guess it does," Katniss laughs.

"What made you go into that field?"

Out of nowhere, Katniss becomes uncomfortable and looks away, shifting in her seat while she wrings her hands. "Uh, well, when I was a kid, the save-the-tree, um, attitude was kind of instilled in me. By my father. He had a lot of influence in my life—more than he ever got to see."

After a minute, her words kick in, and I realize that she's telling me that her father is deceased. "Hey, I'm sure he was a great man." I reach out and take her hands in both my hands. "Seeing how he had influence in your life, he had to have been an extraordinary man because you are a wonderful woman to be around."

When Katniss finally looks up at me, her silver eyes are shining with unshed tears. "Thank you, Peeta. That means a lot to me that you would say that."

"Any person who has spent over five seconds with you could say that." I pause. "You're a woman who deserves to be told that every day for the rest of her life. You deserve to be cherished."

"It's not just what you said. It's the look in your eyes." At my raised brow she continues, "You meant what you said and… there was no pity. You don't pity me. You don't look at me like a broken toy that needs to be fixed."

"That's because you're not a broken toy." I pull her chin up so her eyes will meet mine. "You're _not_. You're a strong woman who has had to deal with the loss of her father, the most influential man in her life. So no, I won't look at you with pity—you've grown from him; I'll look at you in awe. In awe of your strength and valor and righteousness—in reverence."

A single tear slips from Katniss' eye as she gives me a slow, sad smile. I wipe it away with the pad of my thumb.

"Hey, no tears—not unless they're happy tears." I lift up the last of my drink, "To Mr. Everdeen, a marvelous man who I never had the honor of meeting."

Katniss clinks her drink against mine. "Cheers."

As we down the remains of our last drinks, we don't break eye contact. Her silver eyes stare directly, intensely into my blue ones without blinking.

When we set down our glasses, the stare down doesn't stop. Neither of us will be the first to break the silence.

Hands that land on both of our shoulders are what break the trance.

Johanna laughs loudly. She's drunk.

"Hey there, Kitty Kat. I'm ready to head out. I got what I came here for," Johanna slurs in Katniss' general direction with glazed-over eyes. Her skirt is bunched slightly at her waist, and her shirt is off-kilter. If her hair could possibly be less tame than it was before, it is.

"Uh," Katniss shakes her head slightly, "yeah. Yeah, we can go. Where's Prim?"

"Little Primmy? Somewhere over there." Jo vaguely gestures toward the other end of the bar behind Katniss.

"Actually, drunk-ass, I'm over here." Prim appears at my shoulder—the opposite direction that Jo pointed in. Her smile looks especially smug as she looks at the three of us. When her eyes rest on me, I swear she gives me a slight wink. "We heading out?"

"Yeah, Joey wants to." Katniss turns to me with a slight smile. "It was good seeing you here, Peeta." She hops down from her stool and leans in close to my ear. With one hand resting on my face, she whispers in my ear, "Thank you; I'll never forget that." My eyes flutter closed at the feeling. "See you tomorrow." And with that, she's gone.

"Bye, Peeta!" Jo says as she's led away by Katniss.

Prim stays behind to give me a hug goodbye. She too whispers in my ear, but it's not sensual like Katniss'.

"You're going to be good for her. You'll both see it. With time," she says in my ear. "You two have fun tomorrow!" Prim exclaims as she trots after her sister.

I'm left alone, sitting at the bar thinking about two sisters who couldn't be more different, except for the one thing they share—their way with criptic words.


End file.
